


The One Who Came Not Home

by Grayswandir (dostoevskysmouse)



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Poetry, verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-05
Updated: 2006-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-14 20:36:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17515478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dostoevskysmouse/pseuds/Grayswandir
Summary: In verse.  King Elessar and his Steward have settled into their respective roles, but it seems one figure from the past still haunts the King.





	The One Who Came Not Home

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably the nearest thing to actual graphic slash I've ever written. Still fairly mild, I guess, as these things go.
> 
> I'm not sure what kind of meter I was aiming for when I wrote it, but it's rather uneven. I might try to fix it someday, but it would need quite a bit of work.

**The One Who Came Not Home**

Beneath his silks and velvet robes,  
The steward's skin is warm;  
He shivers under kingly hands  
Whose fingers trace his form.  
His body moves to meet the touch,  
A thrust which knows its mark—  
The king's lips close: a kiss like fire  
Consumes them in the dark.

Now neither man can quite recall  
How fortune brought him here;  
The war was not what knit them close,  
Nor peace what pressed them near.  
One took the throne, and one the chair:  
It seemed a fitting thing  
That these should be together now,  
The steward and the king.

Yet Aragorn remembers,  
When his lover breathes his name,  
How other breath, so trembling,  
Broke beneath him, just the same;  
How other hips, so arching,  
Spoke a deeper ache than lust—  
Those lips that said:  _I'm willing_ ,  
While the eyes confessed:  _I trust._  
__  
He feels it that the steward  
Will submit for him alone,  
Full seals his reign as sovereign  
Firmer here than on the throne,  
And yet, tonight, he hesitates,  
As memories retrace  
Another voice, another name,  
A once-familiar face—

Another man who loved him  
In the dark of distant nights,  
Whose footsteps knew this tower well,  
Whose banners soared its heights,  
Who called these stones to echo  
With the ringing of his blade—  
Even now the king can hear them,  
Clear and sharp: and he's afraid.

Then the lamplight, hissing, flickers,  
And the silent room falls chill.  
Wary, slowing, both men shiver;  
Waiting, Faramir lies still.  
But the spectral presence lingers,  
And the king's eyes wildly roam:  
For he feels it now: the shadow  
Of the one who came not home.

He remembers: how that stony pride  
Would bow, at first, for none;  
But though Boromir was bolder,  
He was still his father's son.  
Mastered by the ageless power  
In the Ranger's steely eyes,  
Soon he offered his devotion:  
And the warmth between his thighs.

Like Faramir's, his hair hung black,  
His eyes gleamed winter gray,  
And his chiseled hands, like marble,  
Battle-weathered, knew their way:  
Slow unwinding leather laces,  
Sharp unclasping iron rings,  
He confessed his place as steward,  
So to taste the sword of kings.

But for him no rule awaited,  
For his faithful days were few:  
When he faltered in betrayal,  
His contrition pierced him through.  
Then the river took his body,  
All transgression to erase;  
So his lover took his kingdom—  
And his brother took his place.

And now Aragorn, withdrawing,  
Shifts his weight upon the bed,  
Where the steward, lying shaken,  
Closes legs that trust had spread;  
But the king extends no comfort;  
He is distant, lost in doubt;  
So the steward draws the blankets up,  
And blows the lantern out.

And the silent men in darkness  
Lie together, but apart,  
For the chill has left the tower,  
Yet it stills the Ranger's heart.  
Is he lord, or still a stranger,  
To this City, to these halls,  
Where the echo,  _Gondor needs no king_  
Still whispers in the walls?


End file.
